


Eros/Thanatos

by LostinFic



Series: Hardy x Hannah ficlets [9]
Category: Broadchurch, Secret Diary of a Call Girl (TV)
Genre: Angst and Porn, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, F/M, Ficlet, Teninch Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-11
Updated: 2014-04-11
Packaged: 2018-01-19 00:31:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1448716
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LostinFic/pseuds/LostinFic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: teeth marks</p>
            </blockquote>





	Eros/Thanatos

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thebaddestwolf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thebaddestwolf/gifts).



It’s the last time. He’s told himself that before but it had never felt real until now. Maybe it’s because he told her so this time. Eight months, his second longest relationship. But now he’s going to give his marriage a second chance. It’s the right thing to do (and it’s easier than facing his darker impulses).

It started innocently enough, an imperative need to blow off steam, to get some control back in his life after being confined to a debilitating desk job in Scotland Yard. She was the most prodigious woman to ever give herself to him – albeit for a fee – and he took it all. The price he paid was both financial and emotional. It was worth it to be transformed, painted in shades of Belle.

The more they met, the more insatiable they became, greedily tearing each other apart. And the control they thought they craved, they lost to something far less cerebral.

He paid for the whole night, a decision born out of misguided sentimentalism. Or self-condemnation. Make it hurt, just a little longer.

6am. Less than two hours before he has to leave London, before he has to leave her. Hannah is still asleep, curled on her side, her guards down. She never sleeps when she spends the night with a client or so she told him. He runs his finger down the slope of her nose, over her lips that automatically part for him. He kisses the freckle on her shoulder and the fresh bite mark on her neck. Unlike the faded teeth mark on her inner thigh, she didn’t chastise him afterwards.

Her eyelids flutter as she fights sleep, her eyelashes casting feathery shadows on her cheeks in the low morning light. He runs his nose along the line of her jaw and she smiles. He wants her again. He always wants her. An all-consuming desire to fuck her, own her, be with her. Sometimes he thinks she wants it too, that she only smiles like that for him, that she doesn’t tell her real name to all her regular clients, that she leaves scratches on his skin on purpose. Her very own signature etched in his flesh.

She stretches lazily, curving her back into his chest and his hand slides over her ribs to cover her breast. A perfect handful. He takes his time, exploring the tender skin, passing over every yellowish bruise, wishing his unique fingerprints were stamped on her as well so he’d know for sure these are marks of his own making.

Sometimes they take things too far. 

She never stops him. Not anymore. Whether it’s because she enjoys it or because it’s her job, he can’t be sure. But she comes, hard and honest (he can tell the difference now).

Around the areolas, he traces idle circles until the nipples are begging for attention. Feeling charitable, he brushes a thumb across them and her gasp pleases him. Then, his nails rake down her stomach, leaving evanescent scars on her alabaster skin, to her hip, shaping his palm over the bone, fingers digging in the hollow space. Maybe if he squeezes hard enough she won’t forget him.

Then further down, caressing with one feather light finger where there should be hair.  
“Open up.”  
She opens her eyes and her legs. His middle finger slides easily between her nether lips, into the wetness. She purrs. He’ll miss that sound so he makes sure she repeats it, pressing back and forth until she’s mewling.  
“Wider.”  
She’s rarely this obedient and he likes it that way. This morning he finds her compliance tastes like sorrow. He guides himself in, penetrating her as far as he can, and their joined moans are a thing of beauty.

He can’t decide between making this last or giving in to his baser instincts. She decides for him when she reaches behind, nails digging in his side. One hand grabs her inner thigh, supporting it, the other encases her jaw. The harder he takes her, the louder she gets.

He bites down on the tender skin between shoulder and neck. She lets him.

And that’s the peculiar thing about pain, in a certain context, say when you have a cock between your legs, the cock of a skillful lover: pain feels more like bliss. Dangerous, addictive bliss. So she holds his head down, makes sure the imprint will last so she’ll never forget. Scars as cautionary tales: never let a client get under your skin.

Still, she moves her hips faster, urging him on, begging from release.  
“More.”  
He drives into her but the angle is too shallow.

A little nudge is all he needs to deduce her intention. With a synchronicity acquired through multiple encounters, Hannah gets on top. He’s at her mercy but this morning it doesn’t matter. In her quest for pleasure, she leaves a myriad of tiny red crescents on his chest. With a hand through her wild hair, he brings her mouth to his and they kiss, more teeth than lips. Her whole body quavers and she loses track of reality. An orgasm like a fall down the rabbit hole.

Only when he comes too does she realizes they forgot to use protection. His last mark on her: his DNA.


End file.
